Clink.
Another stone was knocked loose from the wall.
After spending far too long helping his allies "renovate" the endless passageways of Moria, Eric finally stumbled across a broad passage that looked as if it might lead toward the eastern exit.
Gulp.
Another night vision potion slid down his throat.
At the foot of a staircase sloping downward, Eric raised his head. His eyes widened, and his breath caught in his chest.
He had entered a hall so vast that words seemed to shrink before it. Huge, towering pillars, each more than a hundred feet high, stretched from floor to ceiling like titanic tree trunks carved from stone. Each column was worked with intricate dwarven patterns, their craftsmanship so fine it could have made even the most stoic stonemason weep. The hall was so immense that no torchlight could reveal its end.
This was Khazad-dûm, the miracle of Middle-earth, the underground kingdom of legend.
Eric walked forward slowly, the sound of his boots swallowed by silence. The deeper he went, the easier it became to lose all sense of direction. Time blurred. Bottles of potion emptied one after another. His steps echoed endlessly, as though mocking him.
Then something caught his eye. Far down the hall, where the pattern of stonework shifted ever so slightly, stood a great door bound with iron.
At last, something new.
He broke into a run and pushed. The door groaned and shuddered but did not open. Something barred it from the other side.
Ordinary men might have turned back. Eric was not ordinary.
He simply took out his axe and hacked the door from its hinges.
Crash.
Inside, his foot struck something brittle. It cracked and slid across the floor.
Eric crouched down. A dwarven skeleton, so ancient it crumbled at his touch. The poor warrior's armor still clung loosely to his frame, though rust had eaten most of it away.
Eric set the remains respectfully aside and pressed deeper.
Creak.
He pried open a wooden chest. A puff of dust swirled upward, but what lay within gleamed as though untouched by time.
"Gold. Silver."
Another chest, this time overflowing with jewels. And another. And another.
Enough treasure to make generations of kings weep with greed. For most, this room would have been paradise.
For Eric, it was… tedious.
He shut the lids one after another with a sigh. A man who could drown a fortress in his own wealth hardly needed to waste precious inventory slots on baubles.
It was only when he reached the far side of the chamber that his interest finally stirred. Upon a dwarven forge lay several dull, dust-covered ingots. With a swipe of his hand, their true shine emerged.
Mithril.
The rarest, strongest, and most beautiful of metals. Whiter than silver, stronger than gold, and gleaming brighter than diamond.
A message flickered before his eyes:
[New Crafting Recipes Unlocked: Mithril Series]
Mithril Chainmail, Mithril Leggings, Mithril Boots, Mithril Circlet.
Their strength rivaled Netherite, slightly tougher than diamond, though lacking knockback resistance.
"Well, Netherite still wins on durability. But this…" Eric whistled, lifting an ingot. "This is worth more than half of the Shire."
In the days before Moria fell, mithril was traded at ten times the value of gold. Now, with its mines sealed, it was priceless. Money could not buy what no hands could mine.
Eric carefully packed away the four ingots, their worth surpassing all the gold and jewels he had left untouched.
Just as he turned to leave, his gaze drifted back to the skeleton by the door. Something gleamed faintly in its chest cavity, wedged deep among the bones.
"…I'm sorry, old friend. May your spirit rest well."
He reached in and drew out a small silver axe, no longer than his forearm, worked with runes he could not read. Its craftsmanship was exquisite, the edge still sharp.
"Now this… this is interesting. Better let Thorin have a look."
He slid it into his pack, closed the door behind him, and was about to leave when his instincts pricked.
Twang!
An arrow struck his chest plate and glanced away harmlessly.
A guttural roar followed.
Eric spun toward the sound. From atop a distant pillar, an orc with a face so twisted by tumors that its features were nearly unrecognizable glared down at him, bow still in hand.
"Really? You shoot at me?" Eric muttered. "Fine. Courtesy demands I return the favor."
He drew his own bow, loosed an arrow, and sent it hissing across the vast chamber.
The orc tried to dodge. Futile.
Eric's arrows did not forgive.
The shaft brushed its shoulder, and instantly flames engulfed its body. Screaming, the orc thrashed against the stone, trying to smother the fire, but nothing helped. In moments, it collapsed like a burnt stick and fell with a sickening thud.
The blaze and echo drew every eye in the hall.
Eric looked around, impressed. "Perfect acoustics. This place would make a great concert venue."
Boom.
The ground itself seemed to throb.
Boom. Boom.
The sound grew louder, like the heartbeat of the mountain.
Eric stepped forward, gaze sweeping the shadows. Shapes stirred in the distance. Countless shapes. Orcs by the hundreds, by the thousands, pouring from the darkness like a black tide. They filled the ground, the pillars, even clung to the ceiling like grotesque bats.
"Now that's… a crowd."
Their red eyes blazed in the dark, fixed upon the lone intruder. The silence before the storm thickened.
And then Eric raised his voice, his words rolling through the vast chamber:
"Hold it. Please wait a moment!"
His call echoed, and to his own mild surprise, the horde actually paused, cocking their heads as though curious about what this human had to say.
"You don't know me. We've never met. Honestly, this doesn't look like the sort of place where news travels well." He grinned. "But you'll know me soon enough. Because—"
His voice rose, bouncing from pillar to pillar, wall to wall.
"Because in just a moment, you're all going to scatter like frightened, masterless dogs!"
Dogs… scatter… scatter…
The words repeated themselves endlessly in the chamber, as if the stone itself delighted in amplifying his taunt.
For one frozen moment, silence reigned.
Then the darkness itself seemed to writhe with malice, as though a volcano beneath the mountain were preparing to erupt.